


Seek and Find

by Skylark



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fingering, Growing Up, Haikyuu Rare Pair Exchange 2016, Life in your twenties, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Romance, Small Apartments, Threesome - M/M/M, Tokyo (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city air is fresher four stories up, or at least that's what Daichi wants to believe. It was Suga who found the place and Kuroo who charmed the landlord down to a manageable rent, but it was Daichi who had gone to see it, planting his feet on the floorboards as if he could grow roots, and said <i>This is it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek and Find

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Casey](http://kevinkevinson.tumblr.com/) as part of the [Haikyuu Rare Pair Exchange](http://hqrarepairexchange.tumblr.com/). (I only belatedly realized who I was writing for and then died, hello, your art is so gorgeous!!)
> 
> Endless thanks to my betas [Icie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icie) and [Indi_go](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indi_go), who held my hands for _two whole days._ [Title credit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0LNhIaGAUw).

The room's only window is slotted high on the wall like an afterthought, or a last-minute deference to fire codes. The fading light slants into Kuroo's eyes, making him squint, but he can tolerate mild eye damage if it means Suga can sleep. Suga, who battles insomnia with the weary persistence of someone who refuses defeat; who sleeps most deeply when curled around something. His arms wind around Kuroo's body like he belongs between Suga and Daichi as much as the pillows do.

Daichi's still awake, and his breathing is warm and erratic on the side of Kuroo's face. Kuroo turns a little and catches his gaze, half-lidded but still conscious. He blinks once in response, slow and deliberate.

"You do that sometimes," Daichi whispers. "The blinking...thing. Why?"

Kuroo takes a small embarrassed breath, but Daichi doesn't seem judgemental—only curious. "It's a—I guess you could call it a habit," Kuroo replies, his eyes cutting down to the mattress. "I picked it up from Kenma. It's how cats tell each other that the area is safe. They blink once like that." Once exposed to the open air, the idea seems silly, childish. "It's like an inside joke," he hedges, even though it isn't.

Daichi studies him, and then reaches up to cover Kuroo's eyes with his hand, blocking the late afternoon light. "It's not silly," he says. "It means something."

His hand is a little cold; they always keep the thermostat too low. The darkness behind it is comforting anyway.

Eventually Daichi falls asleep and his hand slides away. Kuroo's eyes track across the slip of sky visible through the curtains. They're gauzy and white, a present from Suga's mother (upon meeting her it was easy to understand his devotion to detail). They're incongruous with the rest of the room, which is cleaned only in fits and starts: takeaway cartons are strewn across the table but every corner is free of dust. 

The sky shimmers darker blue as Kuroo watches through the window, into orange and pink and then the faded black that's as close to darkness as Tokyo ever gets. Suga nuzzles his face against Kuroo's neck, murmuring a nonsense string of syllables as he dreams. Kuroo allows the passing of time to drag at his bones and waits, unhurried, content.

\--

Daichi works night shift and stumbles back to a narrow apartment with a high window, to a room with three laptops and one bed.

A bottle of ibuprofen waits for him on the low table, the cap unscrewed with two capsules resting inside, along with a glass of water. It's sitting next to his computer, which has a sticky note on its closed top. _Don't._ is written in Suga's neat, pinched script. _Sleep well!_  

Daichi rolls his eyes at Suga's long-distance caretaking but leaves the laptop closed as he downs the pills and water. He steps around a pile of clothes—black and red, old habits die hard—on his way to the window, using a twist of strength to free the window frame from where it always sticks. It slides open with a loud rattle and he pokes his head out, taking a deep breath.

The city air is fresher four stories up, or at least that's what Daichi wants to believe. It was Suga who found the place and Kuroo who charmed the landlord down to a manageable rent, but it was Daichi who had gone to see it, planting his feet on the floorboards as if he could grow roots, and said _This is it_.

Daichi strips, his movements brusque, shivering as the early spring air slides across his skin. He burrows into the sheets, blinking at the warmth trapped there.

He must have just missed them. It doesn't matter who—the same fondness blooms in his chest, the same sense of a puzzle finally solved. He presses his nose to the pillow and smells Suga's shampoo, Kuroo's aftershave.

He pulls the covers over his head, blocking the early morning light, and sleeps.

\--

Suga's harsh breaths echo off the walls. Daichi and Kuroo bracket him on either side, their shoulders making hills of the blanket draped over them.

Daichi lays his head on Suga's thigh. His voice is a low rumble as it passes through his throat, which is pressed against Suga's skin. "You can make noise, you know," he says.

Suga's next inhale catches in his chest. "I don't want to bother the neighbors," he says. "It's already odd that there are three of us living here."

"It's not that weird," Kuroo says. "The economy still sucks." Their casual conversation is incongruous with the slow slide of Daichi's fingers inside of him. Suga's hips jerk up as Daichi withdraws, then relax back into the mattress as he glides in again.

Kuroo and Daichi glance at each other, and then Suga makes a shaky, startled noise as Daichi scissors his fingers open. Kuroo reaches down and fits two of his fingers in beside Daichi's own.

"This isn't—fair," Suga pants. "Kuroo— _Daichi_ —"

Daichi pauses, fumbling over the edge of the bed until he finds the remote. He turns the TV on, filling the room with muffling background noise. "There," he says, satisfied, and yanks the blanket up to cover all three of them. "Better?"

He can't see in the sudden dark, but he can tell it's Kuroo who presses a kiss to his worried brow. Suga bites his lip and then slides his teeth over it, letting it go. "Yeah," he says. "This is okay."

Kuroo replaces the scrape of teeth with his own mouth, kissing Suga until the last bits of worry fade, until all Suga can feel is heat. He curls his fingers up, the steady pressure running counterpoint to Daichi's languid in-and-out. Suga squirms, overfull, but still desperate for more in a way he can't articulate. Daichi kisses his thighs and hipbones and he can't stop himself from shivering, from crying out.

Daichi's hum is low and pleased. "That's good," Kuroo agrees against his lips. "Come on, Suga."

It doesn't take long. When he comes he loses track of himself, of everything but the quick sweep of pleasure that cascades over him. His hands flail until they find points of contact—Kuroo's bicep, the broad curve of Daichi's shoulder. He feels sweaty and sticky and it's a little hard to breathe like this.

Kuroo must agree, because he flips the blanket off of them until it's a rumpled pile against the wall. The news is easy to hear now and forecasting rain. Daichi pulls himself up onto one elbow, his unsticky hand massaging the tendons of his other wrist. His eyes rake over the mess he's made of Suga's body, and he grins. Suga would smack him if he could think straight.

Daichi goes to fetch clean-up supplies after that, leaving Kuroo to card his fingers through Suga's hair. Suga closes his eyes, letting him. "Can I borrow your umbrella tomorrow?" he asks, his voice faintly slurred. "I think I lost mine."

"Then what am I going to use?" Kuroo points out.

"Oh. Hmm." Suga tries to think of an answer and can't, too distracted by the feeling of warm fatigue.

Kuroo chuckles. "Don't worry about it," he says.

 

The next morning when Suga's getting ready for work, he finds Daichi's raincoat waiting for him in the closet. It's too big for him, and shields even his fingertips from the fine, steady rain. He thinks of the day before—the blanket spread over two sets of shoulders, of the light in Daichi's eyes and the fondness in Kuroo's—and ducks his face to hide it in the coat's collar.

He hurries to catch his train. The day unfolds before him, humid and new, but he's thinking of sunset, of eating dinner with Daichi before he rushes to work, of watching a late-night movie with Kuroo with their fingers intertwined.

\--

Kuroo is alone in the apartment for once. He's decided to clean, for some measure of cleaning; mostly it consists of returning empty dishes to the sink, shuffling papers into piles, and opening the window to let the risen dust escape. 

He makes the bed and the room looks instantly neater. "I should do this next time in a maid outfit," he says to the empty air, and then chuckles.

Eventually he wanders around the apartment, observing it from all angles. He nods, satisfied by the hour's work, and goes to get a camera.

The narrow window doesn't give much light. Neither does the single bulb in the overhead lamp. Still, the photos are clear enough for his purposes, catching the messy way their lives mingle in the small space.

The next photos in Kuroo's phone take place on the newly-made bed, Kuroo laughing so hard that his nose scrunches while Suga kisses his cheek. After that, three bowls of ramen lined up on a polished countertop; then rows of maneki nekos in front of a store and Daichi standing before them, frowning at the camera.

Kuroo knows they won't be here forever. They're each working toward the future in their own way, and eventually they'll be able to afford a larger apartment. In five or ten years, they might leave Tokyo; they might not even be together anymore. The thought hurts, but Kuroo has always tried to be realistic.

This shared space is transient. But Kuroo will keep these photographs, forward them discreetly to Suga and Daichi's e-mails, and know that this is something that can't be taken from him: this small room, and the memories he gathers there.


End file.
